


The Hero's Name

by macosa



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst and Feels, Gen, Not beta'd we die like men, a bit of hope in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24359152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macosa/pseuds/macosa
Summary: Long ago, when magic still permeated the land and every living being, there was a princess.Her cruel father had sealed her in a tower. She longed to experience the light of day on her visage, but could only wait in the darkness for a savior.One day, a hero came to the tower.His name was -
Relationships: Ozma & first host, Ozpin & Oscar Pine
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	The Hero's Name

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of sequel to this [story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24078178). 
> 
> I had originally thought of them as a single fic, but then I realized they would work best as separate.
> 
> I apologize for any English mistakes. I'm very tired today.

_Long ago, when magic still permeated the land and every living being, there was a princess._

_Her cruel father had sealed her in a tower. She longed to experience the light of day on her visage, but could only wait in the darkness for a savior._

_One day, a hero came to the tower._

_His name was -_

  
Ozean let out a sigh, as he put down the bag containing the food for the chickens.

The animals wandered around him, cluckin inquisitively. He had spent so much time with those little guys, maybe even them could tell something was amiss.

Well, his sister hadn't exactly noticed, but that was comprehensible: raising seven children was a busy work, and had become even harder when her husband had passed the winter before.

Ozean couldn't forget that winter, the chills all over his body, the cold entering the house from every cranny, impossible to escape.

"Is something wrong?"

Ah, there it was.

The voice. Once again.

Despite himself, Ozean replied, not without a certain amount of annoyance. That voice just couldn't leave him alone.

"Nothing, I was just thinking of an old story".

"I like stories" the voice said. Wait, what was its name again?

"And I told you. My name is Ozma, not Voice" said Ozma, reading his thoughts.

Ozean gritted his teeth. Giving a name to that voice in his head meant admitting it was not just a trick of his mind.

"It's an old story" he caved. It was better to enjoy a normal conversation - pretend it was normal - than being overtaken yet again by the boredom and melancholy of everyday life. "My parents used to read it to me when I was a child".

He wandered away from the chickens, some of the animals following him and then continuing on their merry way, not a worry in the world. He let a small chuckle at that: he had been caring for them for just a year, but it was like they were family now.

And still he wanted to leave them. To leave Jeanne and the kids, and the kind sir who had entrusted the animals to him, who had saved his family from the misery and death of that past winter, and had saved Ozean from committing a sin.

And now, weeks after that awful Grimm invasion, the voice - Ozma - still incessantly reinforced that idea. Let's leave. There's a person we have to meet.

And he didn't say the following, but Ozean still felt it would be real: Let's become heroes.

A hero.

"It was my favorite fairytale" he reminisced, Ozma happily listening to him in an amicable silence, as if he was a friend.

Damn, he just coulnd't get attached to a voice in his head! Was he that desperate of companionship, or did he just want to pretend he was special?

"I am assuming this story is connected to fond memories you carry, my friend".

Ozean got stiff.

"Let's not" he said abrutply. He didn't want... No, he couldn't!

Flashes of his parents' shielding him from the Grimm, of his older brother dying in an accident, his brother in law falling to illness, his nephews, starved, crying from the cold...

"I'm sorry" said the voice.

Ozean, cold a moment later, as if he had been enveloped by the winter of his misery, now burned with anger.

"If you can read my thoughts to this extent, then avoid asking questions you know the answer to!"

Ozma sounded smaller, then.

"I'm sorry. I truly didn't know".

Ozean sighed, falling to the ground, near the barn. Guess it was his fault, that he couldn't help but share those memories when they came to him?

He hugged his knees, trying to calm his breath. He still had work to do, but he could afford to take a small break to regain himself. He closed his eyes, to stop the tears from spilling.

_Let's entertain this damn voice some more._

"Anyway, my parents named me like the hero of the tale".

"Oh?" Ozma sounded excited to listen, once again. He was such a child.

"Not that I became much of a hero, in the end".

"Nonsense!" said Ozma. "You saved that man from the Grimm when we first met!"

_Yes, when you took my body away from me!_ he almost replied.

But Ozean knew. He wasn't a hero. In the moment of need, last winter, he coulnd't magically save his nephews. Instead of getting to work or doing anything good for this world and them, he just became the lowest of the low and stole bread from those who were already hungry.

But then he was saved by the kind sir...

"Tell me more about this tale" Ozma said. Maybe he had understood that Ozean's mind had been ready to wander on its own to less than pleasant thoughts once again.

Ozean forced himself to straighten his back a little and smile.

"Sure".

_Long ago, when magic still permeated the land and every living being, there was a princess._

_Her cruel father had sealed her in a tower. She longed to experience the light of day on her visage, but could only wait in the darkness for a savior._

_One day, a hero came to the tower._

_His name was Oooo **z** e **m** **a**_

Flashes of pain and light before his eyes.

He gripped his hair, opening his mouth to a silent scream.

**Those**

**were not**

**his memories**

He later found himself laying on his back on the ground. Had he lost consciousness?

The voice was silent, but he could still feel the presence on his owner in his mind. Listening. Observing. Shaking in anxiety.

"His name" Ozean said, softly, unsure if this was a dream or reality.

"Ozma".

*

Oscar opened his eyes.

As he got up and stretched his muscles, he could feel his aura being completely recovered. He let out a happy breath. But now it was time to get serious.

"How much did I sleep?" he inquired.

"Only a hour" Ozpin said. "You recovered very quickly, my boy. I'm impressed".

"There's no time to waste" Oscar said. He smiled, a bit shy. "Besides, I had you with me".

Ozpin didn't say anything back, but Oscar could feel his fondess and pride slipping into his own soul.

He put the covers on the bed again, in case the owner of the barrack ever returned, and prepared himself to face whatever was outside.

Salem. Atlas. His friends.

He could do this. They could do this.

He stopped himself, just as he was about to step outside. He had suddenly remembered what he dreamed about.

It was an old story, a fairytale, that his Auntie had read to him countless times when he was a small child. And he had forgotten all about it, until now.

And now...

He knew what it was. And he knew that the hero's name...

Oscar sighed.

"In the version my Auntie used to read, the hero was called Oscar".

Ozpin replied back, hiding Gods know what in his voice.

"Yes. There are many versions of that tale".

**Author's Note:**

> The references for Ozean and his background are pretty obvious, aren't they?


End file.
